14 Reasons (Why Harvey Specter is an ---)
by kalyzio
Summary: Reason #2: he doesn't remember to pet the puppy, or the one where Mike falls down the stairs, Harvey doesn't appear to care enough, Tess's husband meets someone his own size, and misunderstandings are had by all...except for Donna, who fixes matters as she always does.
1. 1: no patience for student drivers

**14 Reasons (Why Harvey Specter is an Asshole)**

Title and concept were inspired by 2x13 'Zane vs. Zane'. Warning that this fic does contain small spoilers for 2x12 and 2x13 (albeit references that might not be caught unless you've seen the episodes.)

This first chapter could be considered a follow-up to my previous fic, _Ten and Two_, wherein Harvey attempts to teaches Mike to drive.

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**1- He has no patience for student drivers (or the one where Harvey attempts to teach Louis how to drive, Mike is affronted, and Donna is Donna)**

On the day that Harvey taught Mike how to drive, he wasted absolutely no time in calling Donna to bemoan his fate. "The next time I agree to do a Good Thing...set up an urgent appointment with a client, _any_ client, and get me out of it. Invent a client if you have to, I don't care. Make it an impressive sounding name though, something with 'The Third' in it."

"Duly noted," she assured him, "What's the puppy done now?"

"I've just spent the last eternity circling a school parking lot. In a Tesla. In a Tesla going two miles per hour."

She clucked her tongue sympathetically. "By two, do you mean twenty?"

"_Two_," Harvey sounded aggrieved.

"His driving can't be that bad."

"Donna, it's worse than the time Kirk tried driving the Cadillac."

"Hey," Mike sounded affronted, "I'm still right here!"

She could almost hear him roll his eyes. "Oh yes, there you are," Harvey said with flat enthusiasm, "While we're on the subject: why are you still here?"

There was a brief pause as Mike seemed to seriously consider the question.

"I'll see you Monday," he said.

:::

And then there was the time Jessica forced him to teach Louis how to drive. She strode into his office, and without preamble, announced, "Whatever you're doing this weekend, cancel it."

"Done," Donna said, over the intercom.

Harvey set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, a cocky smile on his lips. "We have plans?"

"_You_ have plans."

With the skill of a man damned good at reading people for a living, he took in her expression and her posture, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Harvey," she graced him with a deceptively pleasant smile, a smile he'd long come to recognize as Jessica at her most dangerous. "Don't think I've forgotten that you single-handedly strove to deliver the firm's financial expert into the hands of the enemy at the time when we could least afford it."

He winced. "Expert, really?"

"Missing the point," she reproved sternly.

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again, because I don't seem to recall finishing our first conversation thanks to a certain associate of yours."

He decided it was in his best interests to concede, if only to divert the attention from said associate before Jessica's lips compressed any thinner. "Okay, I may have given Louis some encouragement to leave, but I also welcomed him back."

She crossed her arms and dared him to continue. "And how exactly did you accomplish this?"

With the look of a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, he said, "I redecorated his office?"

"_How_?" her voice took on a frankly dangerous tone.

"With mugshots?"

Both of Jessica's eyebrows shot skyward, and she placed her hands on her hips: the imminent danger level notched up several levels.

"You know how he loves to look at pictures of himself. I helped."

Predictably the excuse didn't fool her for a second. "And now, you'll help in a different, actual, way. You owe it to him, but more importantly, you owe it to me," Jessica said, with finality as she delivered her sentence.

Harvey groaned aloud. "Does no one in this office know how to goddamn _drive?_"

"I do," Donna volunteered cheerfully, "But I know everything, so you shouldn't hold others to my standard of superior excellence. It's why the hashtag is #WWHD, and not #WWDD."

"Are you done?" Harvey said.

:::

It took less than fifteen minutes for Harvey's jaw to clench in such a way that he was positive it would never unclench again. Because while Mike had been an exasperating student in that his foot never left the brake, Louis was an exasperating student in that he was the world's best backseat driver.

'Best' being a relative term, at least.

Harvey was at the wheel, once again taking the Porsche to the same school parking lot where he had taught Mike. Louis kept a death grip on the door handle, and kept up a litany of commentary and head twitches: "I think you're two miles above the speed limit, you should really slow down, Harvey" - "Yellow light, don't forget to slow down, Harvey, that was a yellow light, why did you run it?" - "Whoa! Brake!" - "I don't think you're driving under a safe speed - did we just run another yellow light? Did you even see the light back there because I distinctly remember seeing a light back there."

Not to mention, the second he had entered the car (after Harvey had patted the Porsche's dashboard and apologized to her), he had proceeded to adjust all the mirrors to a more ergonomically compliant position and changed the radio station to some headache inducing opera.

"Don't touch anything," Harvey snapped, before changing it all back.

The only saving grace was that Louis had brought his own ergonomic seat cushion (Harvey had been wondering how best to fumigate his leather seats of Louis Litt's ass prints - now there was a thought best left unthought of.)

Louis looked scandalized. "How can you live in the 21st century and not have a 9-point seatbelt in your vehicle?"

"You'll live," Harvey gritted his teeth, "I think."

Good thing he'd made no promises to bring Louis back in one piece.

:::

Louis was actually a surprisingly good student. Harvey chalked it up to the fact that Louis, unlike Mike, listened intently to every word, and followed orders with an almost disturbing enthusiasm.

Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't suck. Louis kept one eye glued to the speedometer, while the other swiveled wildly trying to simultaneously take in the front view, the rearview mirror, and the side view mirrors. His forehead was permanently scrunched up as he processed all the information like he was performing multivariable calculus.

And he kept muttering directions to himself. "Slow it down, okay, tap the brake, bring it up two miles per hour, left turn, 30 degree turn planned, turning with heading at 15, 16, 17, 18 - "

"Louis, shut up," Harvey groaned, massaging his temples.

"This requires careful, detailed thinking and processing," Louis said, "No wait, I get it, those are concepts you may not be even remotely familiar with."

"Nine year olds can drive a car."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying 'shut up', before I toss you out."

"You can't do that, I'm the one driving. That means I currently have control."

Harvey glared at him.

"I know you're glaring at me, but I currently can't spare the time or the eye resources to meet your stare down," Louis said, as he made another turn, and then capitulated, "but I can feel the intensity of it. It won't work, Harvey."

A beat.

"Okay, maybe it will work a bit."

"Louis," Harvey growled.

"Driving, driving!"

With effort, Harvey settled back in his seat. "Switch to a passing gear."

"What?"

"Passing gear, Louis, how hard is that?"

Louis spared the gear shift a millisecond glance, and then shifted to 'P.'

The Porsche's - the $100,000 Porsche's - engine screeched angrily in protest, and Louis panicked and slammed on the brake - which, thankfully, was the correct action.

Feeling the car's pain in his heart, Harvey screwed his eyes tightly and counted ten, and then twenty, and then considered going all the way to ten thousand. "I meant," he said, his tone frighteningly calm, "to downshift to a lower gear, not to switch to _parking_ gear."

"You should have just said that! What's with this 'passing gear' bullshit?"

Harvey took in some deep breaths and tried to remind himself that murder was a capital offense, and that even if he could convince a grand jury to acquit him, Jessica likely wouldn't.

:::

"How did the driving lesson go?" Jessica said.

"Fantastic," Harvey said sourly.

She perched on the edge of his desk. "Louis had some choice words to say about your teaching methods."

"Yes, yes, 'Harvey's an asshole,'" he waved a hand dismissively, "That doesn't excuse the fact that he owes me a new car."

"You tricked him deliberately."

"_You_ weren't even there. Jessica, I am both offended and indignant at the implication - and did I mention wounded?"

"I might not have _been there_, but I know you."

"Then you should know that I would never do that to one of my cars..."

She gave him The Look.

"...without good reason," Harvey finished sheepishly.

"Good," she nodded, satisfied. "But I do agree that you should receive some reparation for the damages inflicted to your car's engine - "

"Don't forget the need to re-upholster everything."

"And so," she spoke over him, "He's agreed to buy you a new car."

Harvey looked at her suspiciously. "Somehow I always wait for the other shoe to drop with you."

She smiled. "How does the 2013 Kia Rio sound?"

"Heavenly," he said, and sighed.

**...to be continued (should I?)**


	2. 2: doesn't remember to pet the puppy

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the lovely feedback! There were many times when I hit a major writer's block while trying to get this chapter out, but rereading your kind reviews gave my mind the swift kick it needed. I hope you enjoy this chapter...yes, it has more Mike! :)

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**2 - He doesn't remember to pet the puppy (or the one where Mike falls down the stairs, Harvey doesn't appear to care enough, Tess's husband meets someone his own size, and misunderstandings are had by all...except for Donna, who fixes matters as she always does)**

The morning had begun with Mike falling down half a flight of stairs.

Then it had gotten worse.

_He's still disappointed_, Mike thought, as he returned to his cubicle and swiped despondently at the mouse to wake his computer.

Ten minutes earlier, he had shown up at Harvey's office, with a stack of folders in one hand, and a badly bruised cheek, a scrape on his forehead, and a disabled ankle. He had done what he could to mitigate the damage - he had tried patting his hair down a bit and bought some cheap drugstore makeup to cover up the damage - before smoothing out the creases in his suit with his hands, grabbing a handful of manila folders, and hustling to Harvey's office...eight minutes late. Which in Harvey-unrealistic-expectations-of-Tiger-Mom-achievement, was at least twenty-eight minutes past when he should have been at the door in a perfectly pressed 3-piece suit.

"Harvey, I'm sorry, I - " he'd said in a breath, as he'd hobble-rushed into the office.

The irritated look on Harvey's face had stopped him cold. Mike had wet his lips and tried to think of words as Harvey had appraised him - with the lawyer's scrutiny, agonizingly slowly, absorbing every detail - before finally settling on his face.

Mike had thought that he could feel the cheap concealer powder cracking off under that withering stare.

"Tell me that isn't the result of round two with the man whose wife you cheated on," his boss had said, voice eerily flat.

Mike had gulped a bit. "No."

And part of him had _wanted_ Harvey to ask him more about it, but Harvey's lips had simply compressed into a thin line as he launched into a series of questions about the case. All the while, he'd kept his eyes averted from Mike, his jaw just a smidge too tightly clenched.

Harvey thought he was lying, Mike had realized.

There had been none of the concern that Harvey had shown last week, when he'd shown up with the black eye. There had only been anger.

Mike's hands had been clammy as he remembered the look on his boss's face when Harvey had first learned that he had been sleeping with a married woman. It was a look he would never forget. In that instant, Harvey had looked into his eyes and seen all the previously faceless men his mother had cheated with - and there had been anger, disgust, _loathing_. And then finally, most cuttingly, disappointment. Disappointment that he was no better than any of them - that he was one of them.

Thinking it over was making him feel ill. Grimly, Mike shoved his white earbuds in his ears and tried his best to distract himself with work, to convince himself that it shouldn't matter that Harvey no longer gave a shit about him.

But it did.

:::

"You're working late," Donna commented, as she waltzed into Harvey's office and took up position in his vacant chair.

Harvey barely raised his head. "It's only nine thirty, and this is news how?"

"It is when I don't know what case you could possibly be working on," Donna said, "but I'm about to find out." She began ticking off on her fingers, "It can't be the Swinson merger because I faxed those contracts earlier. It can't be anything to do with Mr. I-Swear-This-Isn't-A-Toupee Williams because he hasn't called at all today."

"Donna," Harvey said.

She continued, absolutely unfazed. "But what I do know is that you were ready to breathe fire this morning when Mike showed up looking like he'd been run through the grinder. And I know that you dropped by Security and demanded a copy of the building's security feeds. _And_," she eyed him, at his position on the couch, with a series of hardcover books spread before him, "Those are yearbooks from Mike's hometown."

He snapped the book shut and looked at her, his expression a cross between bemused and resigned. "The FBI would be happy to have your services."

"They'd never be so lucky." Recognizing his stall tactic, she quickly said, "What are you looking for?"

With deliberate casualness, his long fingers flipped open the book and rifled through a few pages. "What does anyone ever look at yearbooks for? Obviously an embarrassing yearbook picture of Mike."

Yeah, right.

"I wasn't born yesterday, and even if that's what you were looking for, there's already plenty of those available on his Facebook."

"Does he seriously have one of those?"

"Harvey, he wears _skinny ties_, of course he also has a Facebook. And you're avoiding the question."

"I'm starting to think that we've worked together far too long, and you've picked up too many of my tricks."

"Nut-uh, you have it backwards; you've picked up _my_ tricks. Also? Still deflecting."

The lines of his eyes creased as he smiled, that self-assured Specter smile. "It's working, isn't it?"

"You're delusional, but if that's how you want to play it, you're getting deprived of your morning caffeine unless you start answering the question."

The smile vanished immediately. "You wouldn't."

"Double non-sugar Americano," Donna sang out, before dropping the bombshell, "_Decaf_."

From the look of sheer disbelief and dismay on his face, she knew that she had won this round.

"Before I tell you," he said, leaning back in his chair with the distinct look of amusement that was oh-so-very Harvey, "I just want the record to reflect that I tried to preserve your plausible deniability."

She rolled her eyes. "We've been in this together since the day I married you," she quipped, and if for an aching of a moment, her heart clenched with a forlorn emptiness, a yearning for what _could've, should've, and had never been _(because there always was a little truth behind every quip), it was easily put aside as they focused on their latest plotting.

She wasn't one of the world's finest actresses for nothing.

:::

Determined to avoid further provoking Harvey's anger, Mike made it a point to show up at the office at 7:00 AM sharp the following day. To his astonishment, Donna appeared at his desk less than three seconds after he had taken his seat.

"How do you _do_ that? I don't - " he paused, bewildered that Donna was staring at him like he'd grown a third head and that was never a good thing.

"Harvey wants to see you."

"Harvey's already here?" Mike felt a plummeting feeling in his stomach as he double checked the time on his phone. Surely last night hadn't been a sneaky Daylight Savings or something.

"Could it be? Is that worry I detect in your tone?"

He gathered himself together, and affected the best nonchalant look he could. "Me? No."

"You show up in the office earlier than we've ever seen you, on the morning after Harvey spent all last night in the office reviewing security tapes for you..."

Mike's mind shuttered to a stop. "He did what?" it came out as a squeak.

Because somehow, somehow _impossibly_ -

And Donna had said that it was _for him_. Mike couldn't believe it.

Donna's eyes - hell, even her fiery red hair - gleamed with triumph, and Mike had a snaking suspicion that she had chosen those words deliberately. "Honestly, Mike," she said wryly, "I know you think you're on the same page as Harvey, but you're reading a different book."

"You heard him yesterday, he was seriously pissed off."

"That's not what yesterday was."

Mike rocked back on his heels. "If you think that, then I'm a little scared for what Harvey looks like when he's actually mad."

"Well he did learn from the best," Donna said modestly, "Go see the big dog in his den, Mike. And don't worry, you should know by now that his bark is always worse than his bite."

"I don't suppose you have a muzzle," Mike said sadly.

:::

Harvey was standing by the window, eyes forward toward the city skyline, hands clasped behind his back. Mike made it a point to knock as he rapped on the glass doors with a knuckle.

"Come in," Harvey invited pleasantly.

Feeling like he was tiptoeing on eggshells, Mike entered the office. Usually at this point, he'd throw himself on the sofa or one of the chairs and make himself at home, but right now, he had no idea how to read the situation.

"When were you going to tell me how you got hurt yesterday?" Harvey said.

"You didn't ask," Mike said, somewhat confused.

"I just did."

"I - I fell down the stairs." A hot flush rose in his cheeks.

"You fell. Down the stairs." Every word deliberate, every pause heavy.

Mike nodded his head jerkily, and then realized Harvey couldn't see him. "I had my hands full."

"Did it occur to you that we have these amazing technological advances called elevators?"

"I was in a hurry."

Mike stared at his boss, utterly baffled by where this line of questioning was going.

A muscle clenched in Harvey's jaw. "I paid a visit to your friend last night."

Huh? "Trevor?" he said, somewhat stupidly, because that was the only friend-and-yet-not-friend that he had in the world.

"Brett," Harvey said simply, and Mike's eyes widened as it dawned on him:

Harvey had thought Tess's husband responsible for his injuries yesterday.

"Harvey," he said, his mouth dry, "What did you do?"

:::

_Brett Keating suppressed a yawn as he exited his office building and stuck out an arm to hail a cab. It was late - ridiculously late. He wasn't a fan of these hours, but that was the way of the world for a software engineer during convergence periods. Thankfully it wasn't long before a yellow Prius with a glowing medallion number came screeching to a stop beside him, and with his mind filled of dreams of a hot shower and a reheated dinner, Brett pulled open the door._

_Just to have it slammed back shut._

_"My apologies," a man said to the taxi driver, "Didn't mean to call a cab."_

_"What the hell - " Brett found his voice, and then promptly lost it again as the mysterious man turned and pinned a glare on him._

_The taxi driver cursed up a storm at them both and drove away before Brett thought to shout something smart and life-preserving like 'CALL 911!' Because suddenly the dark-haired man was advancing on him, and Brett found himself rapidly giving ground even as his eyes darted back and forth, hoping for some witnesses - any witnesses! _

_"Mr. Brett Keating," the man said, rolling his name like it disgusted him, "of Sonic Networks, residential address 892 W. Palm Drive."_

_"Who the hell are you?" __Brett sputtered. The man was dressed impeccably, in a 3-piece suit, and while he certainly didn't look like a mugger (or a murderer, his mind hoped), he definitely had a dangerous air about him._

_"Not so brave when you're the one accosted outside your workplace?" the man said, in a low and even voice. "Let me give you a hint why I'm here: Mike Ross."_

_"Are - what - are you his boyfriend or something?!"_

_"His boss." _

_Ok wow, that made no sense, but the man was still advancing on him, and Brett winced as he felt the rough edges of the stucco wall dig into his back. There was nowhere to run now._

_"What do you want?" he said, sticking his chin out and hoping his voice hadn't trembled._

_"Convincing," the man said dryly. "Now, Mr. Keating. You seem like an almost upstanding guy, or at least someone with an actual job, which is more than I can say for most of Mike's acquaintances. I'd hate to be the one to ruin you." He leaned forward, conspiratorially, almost, and hissed, "But make no mistake. I _will_ do it."_

_"Um," said Brett, because he had no fucking idea what was going on, but it didn't sound promising. "I don't know what I did to piss you off - "_

_"So you're telling me that you didn't beat up Mike Ross? Because I have a video recording of the first time."_

_"The first - the _only_ time!" Brett protested._

_The man's lips quirked. "For the record, if I were bluffing on the video evidence, you would have just implicated yourself."_

_"What are you, a goddamn lawyer?" Brett said, and then realized, _oh_, he probably is._

_The man studied him closely, those brown eyes penetrating through every defense Brett had. He felt laid bare before this man, as if his every secret was out there for the reading, his whole life, past, present, and future exposed._

_"You're telling me," the man said slowly, "that you haven't been around Mike since a week ago."_

_"I swear I haven't!"_

_The man's voice dropped an octave. "If you're lying..."_

_"I'm not!"_

_Another cold, searching look, and then the lawyer drew back a pace. Brett shakily drew air into his lungs, a bit surprised that he still remembered how to breathe._

_"Here's what's going to happen," the man said, "you're going to leave Mike Ross alone. I don't care if he sleeps with your pretty little wife again. I don't care if he sleeps with your sister, your dog, any of that. I don't care if he steals your lunch money. You have a problem with him, you come to me first." _

_"Um, yeah, okay," Brett agreed quickly. Honestly at this point, he would have agreed to almost anything, anything to get this guy off his back._

_"You don't even know my name," the man said, somehow making it sound like an admonishment._

_"No offense, but even if I have a problem with Mike again, I think I'll drop it," Brett said nervously, wetting his lips. Weird that he felt so damn intimidated, when all the guy had done was get up in his space._

_"Good choice," the man said shortly, and without further word, spun sharply on his heel and strode away. Brett collapsed back against the wall, trying to stop the shaking in his knees._

_'What the hell," he said softly._

:::

_"Brett was telling the truth," Harvey said, looking frustrated, "He didn't do it."_

_"You know," Donna said slowly, "Now that I think about it, Mike never did say that he got beaten up this morning."_

_"Yes he did," Harvey said, and then paused as he replayed the morning in his head. His expression darkened. "If _not_, then why didn't he goddamn say something?"_

_"You didn't pet the puppy."_

_"I know we use the analogy, Donna, but he's not actually a dog. And what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?"_

_Donna smiled. "You didn't _ask_ him, Harvey."_

:::

"Harvey, what did you do?" Mike said, an unpleasant feeling coiling in his stomach. "I told you not do anything."

Nobody could do incredulous quite like Harvey could; Harvey stared at him, one eyebrow slowly inching upwards.

Rapidly revising his statement, Mike said, "I mean, I told you I deserved it."

"Better," Harvey said, "And yes, you did."

And that sentence rocked him, cut him deeper than he could have ever expected, because Harvey was looking at him that way again, the way that made Mike want to sink into a hole in the floor and just disappear forever.

"But," Harvey continued, his voice uncharacteristically soft and low and _protective_, "I told him that you weren't his to deal with. You're mine."

Shit.

_You're mine._

Mike could take a beating without crying, could sit through _Requiem of a Dream_ and _Sophie's Choice_ without so much as a hint of a tear, could stare at pictures of puppies all day without feeling that lump in his throat - and this, _this_ was what almost broke him.

Because the way Harvey said '_you're mine_' reminded him fiercely of what he had thought he had lost forever with Grammy's passing, a true friend, an older brother, someone who could and would back him up unconditionally - when he needed it, even when he didn't ask for it.

Mike blinked twice quickly, determined not to lose it in front of Harvey...and then he realized that it didn't matter, because Harvey was very determinedly not looking at him.

"Um," he said, the words lodging in his throat, "Thanks."

It didn't sound anywhere as confident and nonchalant as he'd hoped, but Harvey was looking more uncomfortable that Mike had ever seen him. There wasn't much opportunity to relish it though, because Mike was pretty eager to move off the topic as soon as possible.

"Did you kick his ass?" he blurted.

"In a manner of speaking," Harvey said dryly.

Mike felt an odd pride well up inside him, and knew that there had to be the silliest, stupidest smile on his face.

"But Mike," Harvey added, finally looking directly at him. "Don't do it again. You can't be this firm's moral compass if you're pointed south."

He swallowed hard. "Got it," he said, softly.

"Now get back to work, those briefs won't review themselves," Harvey said, "And for God's sakes, take some boxing lessons."

There was a glint in Harvey's eye as he said that, and Mike knew the gesture for what it was. The situation was past, and they were back to their old dynamic.

Well, then.

"I would," Mike said cheekily, "But my boss is a hardass slavedriver who expects me at the office from 7 in the morning to midnight. _And_ on weekends. If you have issue, I heard you should take it up with him." And with that, he threw a sloppy salute, turned, and fled.

:::

Donna, of course, wasted no time in claiming her victory.

"I told you," she said.

"I knew that was coming," Harvey said.

"Because I was, as ever, right."

"There was never any doubt."

"Yet you still haven't admitted it," Donna crossed her arms and pinned the lawyer with a fierce stare.

"Donna," he said, as he continued writing whatever it was he was drafting, "You are the one and true goddess of this earth. Mere mortals cow in terror and obeisance before you, for you are the one unconquered - "

" - and you," she interrupted, "are the most - "

"You were right," Harvey finished.

She allowed a smile.

Absentmindedly, Harvey tapped his pen against his chin. "So you're telling me all this could've been avoided if I'd just remembered to, and I quote, 'pet the puppy'?"

"He thought you were pissed."

"I was," Harvey reminded her.

"But not at him."

He snorted. "That should have been obvious."

"Harvey, we're talking about Mike."

Harvey heaved a world-weary sigh. "Right. Pet the puppy. You know, Donna, I'm starting to think I'm more of a cat person."

Oh really? She put her hands on her hips and said simply, "Katrina Bennett."

"Hmm," Harvey said, his brow furrowed as he considered, "Well played."

* * *

**To be continued..**

**Loved it, hated it, utterly ambivalent...I'd appreciate hearing what you think! Suggestions for future chapters would also be most welcome. Thanks for reading!**


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